Justify
by ForeverSirius77
Summary: She was trapped in that house, the walls suffocating. But it hadn’t always been like that; there was a time when she was happy there. Yet that time is gone, but can she justify, even to herself, performing the greatest of crimes? Can she justify betrayal?


_Disclaimer__: Anything that you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything that you do not recognise does belong to me. _

_Summary__: She was trapped in that house, the walls suffocating her. Bt it hadn't always been like that; there was a time when she was happy there. Yet that time is gone, but can she justify – even to herself, if to no one else – performing the greatest of crimes? Can she justify betrayal? __**(Written for the Gryffindor In-House Banner Challenge on MNFF)**_

_Author's__ Note__: Well, I've spent weeks staring at these different banners for this challenge, hoping inspiration would spark somewhere. And it finally did, thanks to the one by __**hansolohpfrk**__, of MNFF! So, I present for your reading pleasure, _Justify.

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**Justify**

**By ForeverSirius77**

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She could not have stayed in that room any longer, she knew. The walls had felt like they were closing in around her, the ceiling lowering and trapping her in a tiny cage. Even having her curtains pulled back and the windows open, even having the rays of sun shining into her bedroom and providing such bright, happy light, she could not stay there.

That room, that house, everything about it, suffocated her.

It had not always been that way, the young woman remembered. She knew of a time – and it surely had not been so long ago – where she had been happy in that house. Where she had smiled and enjoyed the people around. Where she had laughed with her sisters, played with (or watched over) her young cousins. Where she had desired for little else other than to accomplish things that would make her parents proud, that would have them show her off to the rest of the family with joy, saying "That's our daughter."

She had wanted them to say it, and not have the emotion behind the proud words be a lie. Or worse yet was when they said those words as if she was a disappointment to them, as if acknowledging her as a daughter was something that shamed them, rather than made them proud of her.

It was not as if that had been ages in the past. At barely seventeen years old, she had not exactly _lived _what would be counted as "ages" of time. Only just of age in the world, only recently acknowledged by law to be considered as an "adult".

What had happened, she wondered, between then and now, to make her feel the way that she did? What had happened to make the place that was once a home to her, the people that were once her family, feel wrong? Why did her home suffocate her? Why did she feel the need to run away from those whom she should have loved?

Where had the happiness that she had felt in the past gone?

And why had this misery replaced it?

_Why? _she thought, although as she silently asked the question, even she was unsure what, precisely, the 'why' was directed towards. Was she asking for the reason behind her misery, or was she asking for the reasons behind her family's change? Was she desiring to know why her childhood home now felt like a cage, why she now felt trapped and locked away? Did she ask the universe why her family had changed, why she could no longer relate to them like she had been able to in the past?

The young woman knew not the _reason _that she asked why.

Did she expect an answer? She did not know that, either. And yet, can a person ever really give an answer to such a question as 'why'? Questions like 'who' and 'what', 'where' and 'how' were easier to answer. Their answers could be factual, could be proven.

Not 'why'.

Answers to the question of 'why' could never be concrete, could never really be proven beyond any sort of doubt or additional questioning. They were guesses, ideas on motives or reasons behind something. Even if a person could give an answer to the question of 'why', another may desire to give a different answer – and who was to say which would be wrong?

'Why' never really had an answer.

And yet, even if she could have been granted one – an answer to any of her questions of 'why' – was she even sure if she wanted that answer?

It brought on a whole new set of doubts, an entirely different area of questions and concerns.

What if the answer was something that she could not accept? What if it was something that she did not want to hear, did not want such a thought, a reply, dwelling in her mind – not now, not ever?

What if the reason why she felt miserable, the reason why her family had changed, the reason that she felt like her childhood home was nothing but a strange, dark building had nothing to do with any of those things? What if it wasn't her family that had changed, her home that had changed?

What if the answer to her question was that _she _was the one to have changed? That _she _was the reason everything just felt _wrong. _

Could she handle that?

Could she handle knowing just such a truth?

Or was it better, easier, if she remained ignorant? Was there truth to the statement, "Ignorance is bliss"?

As she walked down the dirt path, she pondered just such concerns.

There was only a slight breeze today, and the air sent the hems of her dress rippling around her legs while she moved. It was a cool day for summer, the temperature much more reminiscent of the country's recent autumn seasons rather than those for the summer. Her long, brown hair that usually hung loosely down her back was pulled up today, the locks secured behind a clip and kept away from her face. Green bushes, their leaves thick and plentiful, lined the smooth walk that lay out before her. Flowers, too, grew along the sides, their colours of red, blue, yellow, and white adding contrast to the dominant green of the grass that surrounded them. A pale blue sky was slowly being hidden by clouds, their grey colour promising a rain shower in the future.

But she paid little mind to the grass or the bushes. Her focus was not on the clouds or the flowers. The thoughts raging through her head kept her attention well diverted.

There was an easy solution to all of her doubts, to all of her worries. The reasons behind why things had changed mattered very little when it came to finding that one, obvious solution. Whether it had been her family who had changed – or whether she could actually bring herself to honestly admit the truth – that she, herself, had been the one to change – none of it mattered, really.

She could not stay where she was. That, she knew.

She could not keep being someone that she was not, and she could not remain feeling trapped in what had once been considered to be her home. Although she still loved her family, and probably always would, she could not be with those who seemed to suck her happiness from her.

She could not become the woman that her family wanted her to become.

Oh, she could probably put on a show, playing her role to perfection and being the perfect daughter for her parents. She could be a decent actress, and she could perform that part in the production of her life well enough. As she got married to a handsome, rich man, as she hosted parties and attended social functions, as she raised the children and ran the house, making sure everything was just as perfect as it should be, very few would probably ever know the truth.

No one would know that she was unhappy, that she felt like she was dying inside. No one would be able to look at her and see that her true self was wasting away, the core being of _who_ she was never to be found and shown again.

For a brief moment, she paused in her walk, stopping suddenly on the path and turning to look out, across the water. For a moment, she allowed her mind to envision just such a future for herself – a future that her parents would be proud of.

She saw the day of her wedding. Her gown would be flowing white, her jewels sparkling. Her hair would be curled and twisted, the strands assembled in such a way that would be impossible had there been no magic helping it. Every last inch of the manor would be cleaned and decorated; the floors would be polished, and the portrait frames would be glinting like mirrors. Flowers would cover nearly every floor of the home, as well as the grounds. Chairs for an audience of hundreds would be laid out on the grass, and she would walk, looking like an angel or a goddess, towards the front of the crowd, her father acting as her escort. She would face her husband – a son of an old, rich family, the same sort of family that claimed her as a daughter. Vows would be exchanged, and she would leave as a wife, now a part of her husband's family.

She saw the days that followed, the parties she would both attend and plan for her own home. There would be the same types of people at these events, and the same type of talk would be exchanged. She would spend some of the time at her husband's side, looking for the entire world to see like the perfect, dutiful wife that she was. She would smile and nod, agree with what she was meant to agree with, and any disagreements, if they were present, would _never _be shared. She would spend other time with the wives of her husband's associates, and those discussions would be even more trite than others. They would gossip, that was really all that there was to it.

She saw the children that she would bear for her husband, the sons that would be heirs to the family's bloodline and the daughters that would share a fate the same as hers when they grew older. She saw them as they studied in the library, memorising family trees and names of relatives. Primly and properly, they sat at the dinner table, their faces and postures making them appear far more like little adults than children. They would be taught by the best tutors her husband could find, before going off to school after they had received their letter. Her children would be Sorted in either of the two acceptable Houses – Slytherin or Ravenclaw; there would be no Gryffindor or Hufflepuff nonsense. They would excel in their classes, earning positions like Prefect and Head when they reached the right age. Then they would leave school, marry, and have families of their own. And the circle would continue.

She saw it all; her entire life – or what could be her life – played out in her mind. Hadn't she heard it said that one saw their life flash before their eyes before death? Was she dying, then? Was that it?

If she stayed, if she chose to remain and act the part that the play of her life dictated, then it would kill her? If not physically, at least internally – her body would remain alive, but her soul, her heart, her mind, her _self_, would all be gone? In some way, she would die if she remained.

So she could not stay, couldn't become that woman.

She just couldn't.

But how could she justify it all to herself? How could she justify it all to anyone else? The loyalty of her blood, the love and bond she felt with her sisters, the attachment that she felt in regards to her cousins … How could she justify walking away from it all?

It was not how she had been raised. She had never been raised to walk (or run) away; never had she been taught that it was acceptable to lower herself to others. Her power, her wealth, her place in life – it had all come from her blood, and loyalty to one's blood, loyalty to the family that had made her what she was, always trumped _everything_.

Or so she had been taught; such had been how she was raised.

So was it even possible for her to justify doing _exactly _that which was considered the greatest of all crimes? Murder, theft, adultery, any crime, any sin, which one could bring to mind was below this one – the one thing that she knew she _had _to do.

Betray.

The word echoed in her head, the simple letters seeming to be engraved on the ground, her crime imprinted on her skin to never disappear. It would be there, for everyone to see and know. Wherever she went, whoever she spoke to, would know what she had done.

There would never, regardless of how hard she tried, be any escape from _this _crime.

Because it wouldn't be just any old betrayal, if there even was such a thing at all. No, this betrayal would be the most horrific, the most shameful, for the families. For herself.

But she knew that she had to do it.

She had to betray her blood.

And yet, how was she to justify that?

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_Author's __Note__: I'll let you in on a secret: Originally, this story started out as going to be another Sirius/Hermione fic, but somewhere in the writing of it, Andromeda decided it was going to be about her. I wanted to do a different take on her, and not just make her like a female version of Sirius, in terms of her 'rebellion' against the Black family. (Hence, the reason for her questions, doubts, worries, etc. over going against her blood in this story.) Plus, there's a part of me that could see her relationship with Ted Tonks being a bit rushed and sudden, and this one-shot here is set before that time. So, just imagine that she hasn't met Ted yet, but once she does, things go very quickly from then until the whole married/blasted from tree thing. _

_And now, for the normal things: Thanks to everyone for reading this story, and I appreciate hearing your thoughts!_

_--ForeverSirius77_


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